US MILITARY:

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Poor Lad

Poor Lad (a poem)A mother weeps with tears that burn,From her son’s death will she not learn?Will she then honor what she lost,Pay tribute to his personal cost?Or will she use his death to preach,Perched on his coffin will she screech,And damn the cause her dead son served,Her special spot in hell reserved?

There are those many who agree,This mother has a voice that’s free,To vent her anger scream her sorrow,Remind us all of death’s tomorrow.But what of those men fighting there?Must they this mother’s anger bear?Mad mother questioning what they do,Who disrespects our valiant few.

I’m tired of her public pass to grieve,From the media world, she now should leave,And give her son’s poor soul some rest,Stop undermining our bravest best,Who fight to let this woman speak,To let her scream, to let her shriek,Her misguided hatred of her nation.And the very ones give her salvation.

"War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks nothing is worth war is much worse. A man who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing he cares about more than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature who can never be free except made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself." --John Stuart Mill ">